Persons Unknown
by hollywooddove
Summary: Rich and Terry wake to find their lives turned upside down, and very much in real danger, as they have changed and no one remembers who they were.
1. Chapter 1

Persons Unknown

"White's Only," the sign above the only water cooler in the small dining dive outside highway 29 firmly stated. Outside another sign proudly proclaimed "We Serve Colored Takeout Only," this dining establishment was no doubt more progressive than others for 1960 America. Tables were arranged along the windows inside, and a long serving bar for the burgers, sandwiches, fries, and shakes was occupied to the max. Seated on one of the stools in front of the bar was a blonde worth catching, Terry. She was adorned in a red evening dress, shoulder cut and drifting just below the knees, patterned with yellow flowers. Her hair spiraled up elegantly, twisted to a blunt point. She was nervous.

"Terry, you just need to calm down," said Rich, a man in his mid-twenties, dark haired and dashing in his black suit. "I know the people at this party and they are going to love you, simply love you."

"I don't know Rich. I just don't know."

Motioning over the bar to the overweight and sweating server, Rich smiled to Terry, "You care too much about little things, Terry."

The server stepped up to Rich, his apron spotted with grease and condiments, "What'll be?"

"I'll have another Coke. You need a refill, Terry?" she shook her head. "Okay, just a refill for me then."

Angrily, the server growled, "You have got be kidding. I can't believe how many of these people can't read…"

Rich and Terry swiveled their heads and caught what was upsetting the server so. Struggling step by step with a slumped over child in tow, an African American woman and her son shuffled towards the water cooler. "Hey!" the server barked, silencing the racket of the dining room, "Can't you read?" His greasy finger pointed to the "Whites Only" sign over the water cooler. Every eye was on the woman and the child, and a feather hitting the floor would have made an echo.

Shocked and embarrassed, she stuttered, "I am surely sorry. My son doesn't feel well, and we been on the road for a while. I just need to get him a little water…"

"I can't let you use that, rules are rules. When are your kind going to learn that?" Several heads around the diner nodded.

Terry whispered to Rich, "Do something Rich. There's no reason why she can't give some water to that sick child."

Rich hissed, "Stay out of it, Terry."

Trembling, the African American woman of interest inside the small shabby diner off of 29 said, "Let me buy a water off you then."

"Nah, I don't serve no trouble makers here. You should have asked first."

Terry squeezed Rich's forearm, "Rich…"

His returning glare stated, with no doubt, for Terry to drop it. Momentarily, she held her grip on his forearm, and then loosened, turning her eyes downward.

The woman with the sick child tried again, "Really, I will pay. I got money. We not around from here. I don' t know how far we will need to drive before we find another place…"

The server said, "You're a bit slow, too. I said no and it stays no. I don't go back on my word. Now do I have to call the police?"

The child was definitely not well, his eyes drooped and his mouth softly hung open. Drops of sweat were beading on his small forehead, and had his mother not supported him, he would probably fall by his own power. The woman said, "But my child is…"

"Lady, one more word and I will call the police. Get on out of here."

For the first time, she noticed the many eyes on her, and she smiled contritely for her crime. "I apologize to you good people. I don't want to… well," she braced her son up and turned him to the door, "Come on Jerome. Let's leave these good people to their meals."

Like a shamed criminal, she hid her face as best she could while she exited with her son. The typical low murmur after such an incident began to churn, and the server pushed his chest out with the bravado of a war hero, "Those colored people." And as if nothing had happened, he said to Rich, "Refill of Coke coming up."

Terry stepped from her stool and Rich asked, "Restroom?"

"No," she said. "If you people aren't going to help her then I am." She popped the top from her paper cup and poured the remaining contents of ice into her plate.

Rich said, "Terry, don't do something stupid." She marched towards the water cooler, and Rich said, "Terry!"

Ignoring Rich, she continued to the cooler. Rich noticed that no one cared; only he knew why she was going to the cooler. The inhabitants of the diner had no interest in an attractive, young white woman who wanted to fill her paper cup from the cooler. Sitting there, only he watched her step out into the parking lot. Outside, Terry flagged the woman down just as she was about to drive the 54 Ford sedan out of the lot. The car stopped, and Terry approached the open window.

The worried mother said, "I don't want any trouble…"

"Hush," Terry said as she shoved the paper cup into the driver's window. Confused, the mother's eyes questioned Terry, who said, "Take it quick, before someone sees. It's water. Topped off."

With trembling hands the mother took the cup, "Thank you."

"I hope he gets better." Terry turned and briskly walked back to the diner and found Rich exiting the door. He firmly gripped her upper arm as she watched the mother and son drive away; she could barely hear Rich scolding her for her actions.

"Get in!" he said.

"What?" she asked.

"I said go get in the car before you embarrass me out here. What are you thinking?"

"Nothing," she said.

"Nothing sounds right; I think that's what is rolling around in your head, a big bunch of nothing. Now get in the car."

Once seated in Rich's 59 Thunderbird convertible, snow white in color with the top down, Rich said, "Terry, I'm not upset. It's just there are rules for a reason. We have to abide by those rules. You can't just go off and spit in the face of those rules whenever you want."

"It's a stupid rule, Rich. That child was sick, plain to see. She didn't ask for anything out of the way."

"You can't go letting a black person use white facilities, Terry. Everyone knows that. It's just not clean. Would you want to know a white kid used a cooler or a restroom after a colored person had been all over it?"

"We breathe the same air, Rich."

Rich pulled the auto into the highway and sped up the road.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the trees of the setting afternoon, the blue lights of a police cruiser slowly flashed along highway 29. Stepping out of his patrol car, the pudgy officer walked back to the white convertible Thunderbird where Rich and Terry sat. A voice of warning, the humble and confident voice of Rod Serling, mysteriously floated in the air, unknown to the three persons on the road below. "Perhaps you think have already been witnessing activities odd and bizarre. Unfortunately, nothing could be farther from the truth. You have been witnessing a time, hard and true, in the year of our Lord 1960; a time when your skin color defined the limitations of your freedom in the 'Land of the Free.' And as mysterious as it may seem, the two Caucasian people sitting in the vehicle below are about to gain a great insight which can only be learned… in the Twilight Zone."

The officer leaned over the open top and said to Rich, "License and registration."

With a burrowed brow Rich forced a smile, "Yes, of course." Terry sat with her arms crossed, staring into the distance, firmly detached from the current course of incidents. Rich gave the proper documents over to the officer.

The policeman's eyes tightened and his head pushed back on his pudgy neck a bit; it was apparent his eyes were beginning to fail in his older years, and he quipped, "So, Rich Fleeman, what puts you in such a blamed hurry out here on my highway?"

"No particular hurry, sir. I'm very sorry and sort of embarrassed. My fiancé and I were having an argument and I suppose I let my anger take over."

The officer looked over at Terry from the top of his eyes, and he witnessed the distant and fuming anger in Terry's averted gaze. She sat with loosely crossed arms, still waning into the distance, her mind far from the here and now. A sly, crooked grin washed over the policeman's face, and he popped a single chuckle. He leaned down close to Rich's ear and whispered, "Yeah, I have one at home too." The officer straightened back up and returned the documents to Rich, "How about slowing down, okay?" Rich nodded in agreement, and the policeman said, "Nice car. Nice, nice car. Just keep it in the speed limits, sure would hate for you to lose control and wreck a beaut like this." Rich gave agreeance, and thanked the officer for his comments on the automobile, he watched the officer waddle back to his patrol car and drive away.

Rich started the Thunderbird and Terry said, still staring into the distance, "I don't want to go to the party."

Rich sighed, "Terry, can't we just get over what happened back at the diner?"

"I am over it. I don't want to go to the party. I didn't want to go before, and now I am even more sure of it."

Rich dropped his eyes to the floor boards of the automobile and took a deep breath as he searched for a way to relax the tempo of their evening, "We need to go, Terry. I need this. There will be a lot of important people there."

She turned her flaming eyes to Rich, "You don't even know this guy Kyle that well, Rich. He's not a real friend, and you are rolling up in there like we belong."

Rich's temper rose again, "He is sort of a friend, Terry. What? I can't have friends with money and connections? Am I not good enough?"

Terry's eyes softened, "That's not what I meant."

"Terry, the future is built upon what you know and the people who give you the opportunity to use it. Knowing Kyle, and being accepted by him, is a huge advantage. It's an advantage I can't let go to waste." Sadly, Terry nodded, and Rich added, "All that you have to do is be who you are, the most beautiful and charming woman there."

There was a smile on Terry's face, very slight, but nevertheless a smile that let Rich know he had defused the moment; he placed the car in drive and pulled away. Soon they were in Kyle's drive way, passing through the front gate to the large home of many rooms. Windows, high on the front walls, looked down on them as they searched for a place to park in the open lot. There were many other automobiles already parked outside and the sky was darkening a bit. The first impression of the estate was that the home served no other purpose but to inspire awe and covetousness. Terry's mouth dropped open at the sight, "Who affords such a thing? Does it belong to him?"

Rich answered, "Yes and no. Well, yes. Kyle comes from old money. His family has been wealthy almost as far back as you can trace them. I guess you can call him Southern Nobility."

Just outside the main entrance Rich rang the doorbell, and Terry said as they waited for an answer, "I'm terribly nervous Rich."

Rich held her gently by the upper arms, "Relax. You are going to do just fine."

A young African American woman in a housekeeping uniform answered the door, "Yes?" From within the sounds of clamoring and murmur which only associate with a large party could be heard. Rich stated, "Fleeman, party of two." The housekeeper paused for a moment and said, "Yes, you are expected."

Rich and Terry were bode entrance, and soon were surrounded by a complete white wash of patrons. Elegant gowns and expensive suits strolled leisurely from and to various areas within the ballroom. A young dark haired man approached them and offered his hand to Rich, who took the hand with a firm shake and said, "Kyle, good to see you again."

Kyle raised his chin a bit while shaking Rich's hand and snapped his fingers with the other as he searched for a name, "Forgive me, yes…"

"Rich, Rich Fleeman. From the university."

"Ah… Rich. I remember everything about you old boy but your name. I am horrible with names. So, are you still driving that beat up Thunderbird?"

Rich laughed, "Yes, it still is getting me where I need to go."

"Can't beat dependability. Of course, my new open top Benz has been nothing but a most dependable automobile. I don't know if the future of American made cars can keep up."

Rich smiled.

Kyle paused for a moment, and then said with a start, "Please, make yourself at home. The bar is in the corner. Give your keys to the bartender, and if you are sober enough to drive away we give them back. If not, there are plenty of guest rooms to wait it out until the morning."

Rich smiled again and thanked the host. Kyle turned his attention to someone across the room, "John, old man! How great to see you! Don't move, I will be there in a moment." Kyle turned his attention back to Rich and Terry, "Have fun and mingle," and then he vanished into the sea of people.

Rich and Terry made their way to the bar and ordered drinks, and Rich could not but help to notice the look of disdain on Terry's face, "What's the matter dear?"

She whispered, "That was some introduction. The people here seem to be the sort of folk who would gladly push your nose in the mud so they may hold theirs above yours."

"Don't start Terry."

"Oh, don't worry Rich. I will be charming and beautiful. My mother says you always get exactly what you ask for, one way or the other."

Terry watched the discomfort of numerous failed attempts by Rich to strike up conversations in common with the people of the room. There was the attempt to speak on the future of cotton production in the south, and the attempt to debate on the political climate and its impact on interest rates, and the most horrible attempt yet was when Rich tried to fit into a group of men who were insistent that people with less were simply too lazy or too dumb to ever climb their way to prosperity. With each failed attempt, a trip to the bar was made and a couple of hard drinks went down to ease the tension and wash away the intrepid grimness of it all. Terry never left the bar, merely watching, and washing back almost as many drinks to drown her gnawing discomfort.

But at last, opportunity came. One young male rose to attention in the crowd, and began to recite a satire of his personal experience of when arbitration converged between himself and an African American who worked in a mill he managed. The African American, whom at this party was labeled as the most derogatory term for Negro, had asked for advancement in his pay as time was soon his wife would be bearing a child. It goes without saying the negotiation ended in a most sour fashion for the African American, not only would the advanced pay be denied, but if he should ever have the nerve to ask such again (for what did these people do other than breed, breed, breed), he would be without a job, replaced as easily as a light bulb by another 'Negro', who would be ecstatic about doing the worst of occupations for the least of a salary. Rich seized the moment, and rode the furious coattail of the Southern Aristocracy, and it all started with this shout, "Yeah, just earlier today I was in a diner…" and from that moment forward, Rich possessed the room.

He had succeeded, and found the common ground. Elaboration of the young African American woman, who had spat in the face of decency in that small diner with her son, the next generation of worthlessness, spewed from Rich's inebriated lips in poetic gaps of cultural truth. The crowd was mesmerized; he owned their hearts. As icing for this proverbial cake, Rich went on to demonstrate his true generosity and honorable nature by including the details of Terry's wrongful help to the woman and child, and how he still loved and forgave her despite the act she performed.

Terry was mortified, not by the perceived impression the room must have on her, but by the betrayal from Rich's lips as he stepped on her, the way a painter steps on the rung of a ladder. She slammed her glass on the bar and screamed, "He was only a child Rich!" The room froze, and all eyes were on her. Where had she seen these cold dark stares before? She remembered, from the windows of the small mansion as they had driven up. Rich reached out for her, "Dear, don't take it personally. I forgive you."

Terry's eyes pierced to tiny points, "You forgive me? You forgive me?" She stormed out of the room and into the long hallway. Kyle snapped his fingers and said, "Don't worry old boy. TRUMAN! TRUMAN! Catch up with the lovely young lady in the hallway and show her to a room. I'm afraid she has had too much to drink."

Rich only sat and stared after her. Kyle spoke to him, "You had better go join her, patch it up. Else it could be the dog house for you for some time."

Rich nodded and went after her. Once inside the room Rich danced around in drunkard steps and fell flat to the bed. He drooled out a few words, "Why did you have to ruin it for me, Terry? Why did you have to ruin it?"

Terry struggled to remove her heels, "Don't you worry, Rich. You are still the hero of the moment, and the king of the room. Poor Rich and his ignorant fiancé. Can't you hear them, Rich? Can't you hear them now? Don't you worry. I made sure they know what how gracious you are to keep me." She fell back on to the bed, and both quickly fell into sleep.

The morning sunlight was harsh as it came through the window. Terry placed her forearm over her eyes and moaned, "Oh, my head." Rich only murmured, keeping his face buried in his pillow, and this was a good thing, had he looked over at her, a great commotion would have erupted. Terry kept her face in shield of the sunlight, and slowly rose from the bed. She opened her eyes to find the washroom, and then closed them again, feeling her way to the laboratory in a blinded fashion. She dipped her hands in the running water, and splashed her face. Slowly she opened her eyes, and found a stranger in the other side of the mirror over the basin. She shrieked so loudly the rear of her throat became raw.

The reflection was that of an African American woman, for Terry's external features had become African American.


	3. Chapter 3

Terry's scream had startled Rich to his feet, and he had no idea that he also had been transformed to an African American. He bolted to the washroom and stammered back in revolt when he saw the African American version of Terry standing in front of the mirror. Rich demanded, "Who are you? One of the house help? Where is Terry, why are you wearing her gown?"

Terry looked on him with wide, horrified eyes, "Rich? Is that you Rich?"

"How do you know my name? Where is Terry?"

She said softly, "Oh, Rich. It's happened to you too." She looked in the mirror and softly caressed her face, "You always get what you ask for, one way or the other."

Rich took Terry by the arm, "I don't know who you are, but you are in big trouble."

Terry pulled back from Rich and said, "Rich, Rich, it's me. Terry, I am Terry."

Rich's anger roared, "You are insane. Now I don't know…"

Terry pulled Rich into the washroom and placed him in front of the mirror. There was an immediate vertigo which overcame Rich; he braced his hands on the basin to keep from falling. Rich froze in spot, and slowly poked his finger into his face, "What in God's name?" He turned his head towards Terry, "Terry?" and she nodded. His attention went back to the mirror where he leaned in closely, "Is this some kind of joke?" Terry replied, "I don't hear anyone laughing."

Springing to action, Rich stormed through the bedroom and rubbed his hand through his hair, which he pulled away and with disbelief at the sensation of his different hair. "We have to get out of here. We have to go."

Terry buzzed around Rich, "Where are we going?"

"Anywhere but here for now. We have to leave. We have to find out what happened."

"Do you think this happened to everyone? Do you think everyone has turned black?"

Rich shrugged, "I don't know. But we have to find out what is going on."

Terry said, "Do you think this is some kind of hypnosis? Do you think someone at the party came to us and placed a spell of suggestion on us?"

Rich slowed down for a moment and contemplated what Terry had just said, "Maybe. I don't know. But right now, I can only say that I see both us as black, and so do you. This means so will everyone else. We didn't recognize each other, and I am guessing no one else will either. We have to get out of here before everyone wakes up. We have to get the keys to my car before anyone stops us and asks any questions."

Terry asked, "Why don't we just ask for help. Why don't we explain what has happened?"

Rich gritted the next words through his teeth, "No one is going to believe this, I can barely believe it myself. The most we can hope for is they put us in jail."

"Oh…. Rich," Terry placed her hand over her mouth as she realized Rich was correct.

A tall, slender African American in a butler's suit was walking past their room as they bolted out. They stopped in place in front of the house attendant, and he said "What are you folk doing here?" Rich said, "I don't remember you from last night." The butler said with an air of suspicion, "I surely don't remember either of you. How do you come to be in a white people's party?" Rich said, "I went to college with Kyle, we were invited." The butler raised an eyebrow, "Why? Were you the entertainment? I know Mister Kyle, and I know for a fact he don't let no colored people sleep in the big house."

Rich searched his wits for a moment, "There is always and exception," but these words lacked any confidence to be sold at a moment such as this.

"If what you say is true, then it can be verified my Mister Kyle. You two stay put while I go and report this to him."

Rich smiled, "Sure thing, no problem." The butler walked down the hallway, intermittently looking back with curious judgement at the African American couple standing in the hall of the big house. He turned a corner and the two ran to the empty ballroom. Rich hissed, "Where would they keep our keys?" Terry said, "We gave them to the bartender. Perhaps they are behind the bar." Rich ran behind the bar and said, "Keep an eye out." He searched behind the bar, "I don't see anything under here. Nothing."

From down the hallway came a bellow, "Better not be no colored people in my house!" It was clearly Kyle's voice, and the gentle thump of approaching footsteps.

Rich was frantically searching now, and Terry moved behind the bar to help. Both complained that there were no keys anywhere in sight. Again, the voice came from hallway, this time closer, louder, "You coloreds better get out of my house and you better not be stolen anything." Terry jumped with fright, and in doing so she tipped a bowl sitting on top of the bar which chinked, as though it were full of small metal objects… keys. She looked over in the bowl and quickly poured the keys out on the bar. Rich scurried over to beside her and picked out his keys just as a more threatening sound than Kyle's voice echoed through the ballroom: the clicking rattle of a shotgun being pumped.

Kyle was standing in the entrance of the ballroom, Rich and Terry took note that Kyle was still Caucasian, holding the shotgun in question in one hand to his side, with the African American butler poised behind him, who spoke, "Told you Mister Kyle don't let no coloreds sleep in the big house."

Rich said, "Kyle, you have to listen to me. It's me Rich. Something has happened, I am not really…"

Kyle interrupted, "Boy, you need to shut your mouth. I don't know anyone named Rich. I don't know or care why you are in my house," the shotgun rose and was aimed at Rich, "Get your hands up, Negro."

The very moment Kyle turned to the butler and requested that the police are called; Rich grasped Terry by the hand and made a run for it. The shotgun trembled in Kyle's hand, and so close to pulling the trigger he was, but the two made it out of the ballroom and out the exit. Kyle slowly lowered the shotgun and walked to the window, watching the two climb into Rich's convertible Thunderbird. "Shall I still call the police Mister Kyle?" asked the butler. "Yes," said Kyle as his fingers pushed back on the curtain, "Report a breaking and entering. Also tell them to be on the lookout for a white Thunderbird which has been stolen."

The Thunderbird sped up 29. Terry inquired as to what their next step should be, and Rich said, "We are going to my parent's house. I have to see if they know who I am. Did you notice that Kyle did not even remember my name?" Terry nodded, "Yes, but he didn't remember you when we entered the house." Rich nodded, "That's true. But after that story I told last night, in front of everyone. He would have to remember me after that. It's almost as if we not only changed colors, but our previous identities have been erased, and removed from the face of the Earth. We have to see my parents. I have to know if I exist anymore."

A siren blared, and in the rear view mirror of the car Rich saw the blue light flash. He looked at his speedometer and he grimaced, indeed he was speeding again. Rich pulled the car to the shoulder of the road, and the same pudgy officer stepped out, this time with his hand on the butt of his holstered pistol. The officer walked over in the same fashion as before. Rich said, "Oh, it's you. Thank goodness. We need help."

The police nodded, "You do need help. It's called bail. What you suppose a couple of colored people are doing in a nice car like this? You steal this car boy?"

Rich nervously chuckled, "No. I own this car. Don't you remember pulling this car over yesterday evening?"

The officer shook his head, "No. I'd remember a nice ride like this one. So, you own it? Mind showing me your license and registration?"

"Sure," said Rich, who leaned over to the glove compartment. He rustled around in the glove compartment and found nothing, "I don't understand; I keep them right here." The policeman asked, "Trouble?" Rich shook his head, "No, I mean I don't know. I can't find my documentation. Are you sure you gave it back to me when you pulled us over last night?"

"I have never seen you or this car before in my life. Now, why don't you just slowly step out of the car?"

Terry tensed and said, "Rich, what's going to happen? We can't go to jail. No one remembers us. No one knows us."

The officer patted the butt of his pistol and said, "Slowly, step out of the car."

Rich slowly opened the car door and stepped out. His mind went many places, but from somewhere deep inside, a natural response to a deep fear came over him, a fear which shone bright and clean that there would be no fair trial for him or Terry. The sensation took him physically, and he dove on the thick officer, wrestling him to the ground and punching him sharply on the jaw, rendering the policeman unconscious while Terry screamed in fright.

Rich jumped quickly back into the Thunderbird and started it up, knocked it down in gear, and sped away. He notified Terry they would have to put as much distance between them and the officer that they could before he came to. He stepped down fully on the accelerator, pushing the car harder and faster than it had ever been pushed.

They did achieve some good distance before steam began to hiss from under the hood of the Thunderbird, the car was overheating. Terry panicked, but Rich reassured her that they had made a good head start, and all they needed now was some water for the radiator and all would be fine. Rich looked around, for they seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Ahead, though, something was coming into view. An outpost, a building, a diner, and the diner they had been in the day before.

The Thunderbird coasted into the parking lot with a cloud of steam shooting into the sky. Rich shut it down and both of them got out of the automobile. They rushed inside amidst the breakfast crowd, and the same attendant was behind the register as the day before. Rich, in an extreme state of fear, made his way straight to the water cooler and began to heave on the tank of water on top.

"Just what do you think you are doing?" asked the greasy cook.

Rich continued to wrestle with the water tank, and Terry said to the cook, "We need some water. Our car is broke down, we just need some water."

The cook pointed to the sign over the cooler which read, 'Whites Only,' and said, "Ain't this something. Just yesterday a colored woman and her son came busting in here like they was white people, and here you two come, just a day after. Two days in row. Go figure that. What is this world coming to?" The cook said to Rich, "You get away from there boy. Get off that cooler before I call the police."

With that threat, outside the window of the diner, a police car could be seen arriving in the parking lot. It pulled next to the steaming Thunderbird, and the cook watched as the officer stepped out and inspected the car, and then pulled his pistol. This prompted the cook to pull a pistol from behind the counter in a diner, already silent from the transpired events, and even more hush enveloped the interior Terry shrieked as the cook aimed the gun at Rich. Rich slowly turned his head and saw the barrel of the pistol pointed at him. The cook said again, "Turn it loose boy."

Rich gently turned loose of the cooler and began to plead with the cook, "You don't understand. You just don't understand. None of you do. It's not how it looks. None of this is how it looks. I'm just like you. I'm just like you." Rich pointed at his skin, "This isn't real. This isn't real. I'm one just like you."

A brief but perceptibly long moment of silence issued, and the cook said, "You're crazy. We're nothing alike."

Terry had just noticed the policeman outside, standing by his patrol car with his pistol pulled as another police car drove in. Her eyes flashed with fright, and she screamed, "Rich! Oh no! Rich!"

The cook turned the muzzle on Terry and said, "You quiet down!" In that instant, the actuated fear overcame Rich again, and he bounced on the cook's arm, twisting and turning his wrist until the gun dropped. The cook had fought back, but Rich had won this match. Quickly, Rich grabbed the gun from the floor and waved it at the cook, who said, "You a dead man now."

Rich saw the two police approaching, both with their weapons out. He slowly backed to the restroom, which too had a sign overhead stating it was for the use of whites only, and stepped inside, closing the door. Rich locked the door, and as he walked, dazed by a more insidious vertigo than before, backwards until he was against the wall, he heard his own voice from his memory as loud and clear as if it were being broadcast, "Terry, the future is built upon what you know and the people who give you the opportunity to use it." He whispered to himself, "My future is over. I have no future. I have no hope."

Rich slowly raised the pistol to his temple.

Terry had to be removed from the diner by the two policemen, screaming and crying in agony, for she fully understood with eyes widened in horror by what the sound of the gunshot meant. She knew Rich had taken his life, and that he could never compromise with this new reality.

Harsh morning sunlight came through the windows of the guest room in Kyle Kurt's home. Rich jerked awake, and sat straight up. He looked at his hands, which were white, and he jumped out of bed and ran to the washroom. He looked in the mirror and broke out in explosive laughter. "A dream," he crackled, "It was all a dream. Just a dream." Back in the bedroom he saw Terry sitting up in the bed, rubbing and observing her white arms. He saw she two was white, and he laughed. "A dream," he whispered to himself. His mind tried to release what had happened, for it was the most vivid dream he had ever encountered. "It must have been the booze," he said to himself.

He went back to the argument he and Terry had the night before, "Terry, I am sorry, I was drunk. I was wrong. I was so wrong about everything. Not just what I did last night, but what I did at the diner. The way I was. The person I was. I am so sorry."

She smiled, and she stood from the bed and said, "It's okay, Rich. I am just so happy this morning."

"Did you get a good night's sleep?"

"Oh," she laughed, "on the contrary. I dreamed we woke up and were not white anymore. We had somehow turned black," as she spoke Rich's smile began to fade, "and it all ended so horribly. We were so cast out."

Rich took her by the hand and said, "We have to get out of here while we can."

"Why?" Terry asked with the same blissful smile on her face.

"Because it's impossible that we both had the same dream," said Rich.

Terry's smile was replaced with confusion, "I don't understand."

Rich asked, "Did I shoot myself, in the diner, at the end of your dream?"

"How did you know?" she asked. "How could you know?"

"Because it wasn't a dream." Rich began to practically drag her to the door, and she stated she needed her shoes, and Rich said, "Leave them. We have to get out of here. We can't take a chance on it happening again."

Outside the door they came face to face with a butler, except this one was white. Rich said, "You're not the same one as before. I don't remember you."

The butler said with an air of suspicion, "I surely don't remember either of you. How do you come to be in a black people's party?"

"Wha?" Rich stammered. He and Terry slowly stepped backwards, when they heard a deep voice from up the hall, "Better not be no white people in my house!" Rich saw with unbelieving eyes, a tall African American man in the same morning robe Kyle had been wearing. The robed man said, "You whities better get out of my house and you better not be stolen anything."

Rich asked, "Kyle?"

The African American man in the robe said, "How do you know my name."

The white butler peered accusingly at Rich and Terry and said, "Mister Kyle don't let no white people sleep in the big house."

Above the hall, and over the big itself, the calm voice of Rod Serling pervades hidden to the four inhabitants, "Rich Fleeman and the future Terry Fleeman, that is if they have a future at all now. Passing from dream to dream? Or passing from world to world? They may never find themselves in comfortable surroundings again, but rest assured, you always get what you ask for in one way or the other, in the Twilight Zone."


End file.
